


Something like happiness

by countallurteeth



Category: Euphoria (TV 2019), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, Euphoria, Gay, M/M, Mental Illness, Stupid shit idk, Trans, Written at three am, angsty fluff, brainrot, mlm, queer, they both live and end up happy, this is self indulgent you have permission to hate it, trans main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28915836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countallurteeth/pseuds/countallurteeth
Summary: An alternate universe of My Chemical Romance, loosely based off HBO’s Euphoria. Gerard has just left rehab, unsure of whether a clean life is going to be sustainable. Until he meets the new boy in town, Frank. And he has to learn to deal with the withdrawals of an illusive boy who blows smoke in his face.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for the fic. I’m “watering it down” so to speak from the show because some of the shit in that was wild. I’m making this my own thing, even though it is, at the end of the day, loosely based on Euphoria.
> 
> TWs:
> 
> Drug use  
> Drug addiction  
> Mental health struggles, including imagery of severe depression and issues with self harm.  
> Description of self harm scars, and brief description of the act itself  
> Needles (hormone replacement therapy)  
> Anti-LGBT slurs (I only write out the ones I can reclaim personally), attitudes, speech and actions.   
> Underage I guess? I don’t promote it at all but it’s very important to the storyline that Jules goes through this so I felt the need to include it. Always remember to kill your local pedophile!
> 
> Will update as I can think of them.

_ I didn’t choose to be a bad person, but something tells me I probably would choose to be if I wasn’t already. _

_ Contradictory to popular belief, drugs don’t make you a bad person. I was already a terrible person before drugs. Lipstick reds and blueberry and snowy whites just empowered me, if not tamed me for the american dream. From the moment I was born, to the moment I decided to die (which is a surprisingly small threshold), I was unappealingly unmoldly. Society doesn’t like that. Society wants pills in your guts, wires in your brain, and a smile on your face.  _

_ “Thank you, big brother!” Society cries out like a little cumslut. Yeah right.  _

_ I wasn’t a pick me guy or one of those edgy bastards that cried for uniqueness in the most stereotypical way possible. No, I was just… different. That’s what every damn doctor told me, from day one. “He’s just different…”. There, unfortunately, is no fixing different.  _

_ Sure, I ‘chose’ drugs, but I didn’t exactly have a choice, anyway. The system chewed me up and spit me out. What kind of eleven year old tells their mom they want to die at the family dinner table? The eleven year old that seals a divorce, that’s who. It’s not my fault breathing out every last bit of air in my body is the only thing that keeps me sane, keeps me grounded. You really push everything out of you when you’re at a party, the dull thump of bass in the background, the rolled up...whatever falling from between your fingertips. I felt free, empty. Everything just fucking stopped for the first time in my entire life. Absolute silence. And looking for that, searching, grasping for it, dying for that feeling again is what ultimately made me an addict. See? No criminal record, no ‘hood’ home life or whatever racist assholes usually blame drug addiction on. That doesn’t even cause addiction, anyway. Didn’t for me, didn’t for any other addict I’ve ever met. Generalizations tend to get exhausting when you get further plunged into groups and minorities.  _

_ I stood in the last prayer circle of rehab, hyper-aware of the hands holding both of mine. The group mumbled the lord’s prayer, the extra long catholic version, but I didn’t even bother to move my lips. They felt dry, unsavoury against the harsh spike of intrusive thoughts. Intrusive, intrusive. Funny word. Makes it sound so simple, and yet, they often hurt my ears they were so loud. Ripping the skin off this girl with the sweatiest fucking palms I have ever touched was appealing, but I settled for wedging my hoodie sleeve between our skin, sighing softly at the holy restraints around me. I’d always hated the fucking church. Hated God. I know that motherfucker exists, but he’s gotta be the world’s hugest asshole, because he mashed and crammed and jammed so much into a four year old, the poor kid’s wanted to die ever since.  _

“Gerard?” The counselor queried, the leader of the prayer circle asked, looking up to him. He had his head down, lost in thought, but quickly picked it up to look at her. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s your last day. Would you like to say the closing words?”

“N..No thanks.” Clearing his throat, he bit his lip, and waited for the skin to dissolve under his teeth before eating it. Everyone saw. Everyone chose not to process it. 

The closing prayer finished, the crowd dissolved, and the counselor pressed a chip into Gerard’s palm that hadn’t even been open. 

“I’m proud of you, Gerard. I can’t wait to see what you become.” She smiled sincerely,  _ and I faked a smile the best I could. Faking a smile is surprisingly easy, especially since my normal smile is already awkward as shit. She apparently bought it, because she finally left me the fuck alone, after three painstaking months. Finally didn’t stand next to me, didn’t watch me the whole prayer circle, didn’t even check on me when I ‘slept’ last night. I don’t sleep here, but then again, I don’t sleep anywhere. This place was a hundred percent worse than home, but at least it was quiet.  _

_ See, in rehab, they assume you’re some sad teenage girl who smoked weed once and your parents caught you. I nearly killed myself in the stupid place multiple times. It’s surprisingly hard, unlike pretending to smile, to pretend to be better, but it was the only way to get out before summer ended, and I didn’t exactly want to miss senior year for the christianity deepthroat. So there I was, finally, leaving, lugging my suitcase out of the place, and plotting where to get my next fix. In reality, I wasn’t better at all, nor did I exactly want to get better. What if I “lose my sparkle” as they say, loose all that makes me worth knowing? Hell, there isn’t even anything that makes me worth knowing. I’m far too fucking simple. Between drugs, greasy hair and shitty makeup, there really wasn’t anything to me.  _

“GERARD!” Mikey called, and Gerard snapped out of his down-gaze haze. Mikey. The younger Way brother, the light of the family, the wonderful example. The one who their mother would hold over him forever. Gerard loved Mikey to death, but he was tired of people guilt-tripping him with the poor brother.  _ More on that later. _

Mikey did his awkward little run over, and Gerard lugged his suitcase over as fast as he could, a grin on his face and a count of how many decibels each breath was in the back of his mind. Gerard slung an arm over Mikey’s shoulder, and the younger boy embraced the older, the two hugging each other close. The two had been really close, as close as you could be when mental health was such a divide. When he wasn’t on actual drugs, Gerard was high as a kite on his meds, so he wasn’t exactly reachable all the time. They still had fun, though, and seeing Mikey again reminded him of why he wanted to be out so bad. Mikey’s shirt smelled like Axe body spray and a touch of spaghetti sauce. Good to see nothing has changed. 

“Hey, dipshit. Missed you.” Gerard mumbled, voice calm and low, despite such playfully harsh words. He ruffled Mikey’s perfectly straightened hair and chuckled, a forced noise for real emotion. It wasn’t like Gerard was faking being happy to see Mikey, more like how he felt had to push through molasses to even reach the surface of his skin. Smiling didn’t always come naturally, as much as he didn’t want to seem like a total freakazoid. 

Mikey grumbled and let go of Gerard to rearrange his hair. The older brother pulled away from the hug as well and watched, a smug look on his face. “Dude, I spent so long on this- C’mon, G, what the hell?” Gerard just chuckled again, and Mikey grabbed his hand, leading the two back to the car.  _ Ugh. _

_ I’d dreaded seeing Ma again. Not because I hate her, but because she expects so much. I mean, she fucking made me, so you’d expect her to know what the hell to... expect.  _

_ But no, she heard the terms “Symptoms of OCD, ADHD, Bipolar and even possible autism and personality disorders.”, and skipped right over to the “But it’s a little early to tell.” That appointment was somewhat traumatic to me, between the texture of the couch I was sitting on, and my parents getting into a screaming match. My mom was about ready to burst, and she did have Mikey two days later. Find out one son is broken, just have another to replace it.  _

_ She was raised in a different time, by different people. I can’t hate her for that, but I can definitely hate her for some of the shit she’s done. I wouldn’t be shocked if she hates me too. _

_ She said something about a new chapter in my life, but I was too busy remembering the time she pinned me during a meltdown and sat on my back. That was part of the conglomerate of hate I held for her. Conglomerate. Who the fuck do I think I am? Anyway, I nearly moved in with my dad after that, but he wasn’t even down with the fact that I had any diagnoses at all, so it wasn’t like that would do much better. He’d probably do worse, actually. It wasn’t her fault that restriction is often shown as the solution to a meltdown, despite making it a hundred times worse. She fractured one of my ribs, and that was the first night I tried acid. We got ice cream that night, and pretend neither of us knew, and pretended at the doctors that I fell off the bike I didn’t own. _

_ And again, lost in all this thought, I hardly noticed Frank. He was riding by on a bicycle, all black and decked out with stickers, specifically Invader Zim from what I could pick out. He had eyes like the bottom of a swimming pool after it hadn’t been cleaned for a while and there was definitely a few rotting lizards under there, and he breathed at 15 beats per minute. Each fibre of his hair moved with the breeze he was building, a touch of grease clumping it up, but what I presumed was the natural fluffiness of Frank’s hair made it fly. I couldn’t help but stare, watch him fly by like a sparrow on the wind towards a better place. I felt demonic, inferior in this angel of a sidewalk’s presence. The curve of his nose was so important to me all out of nowhere, steeping into a button nose that melted into an absent little curve of the mouth. His lips were the exact shade of cherry blossoms in the dirt, faded from time but the rough chapped nature not dulling their beauty one bit. I knew I was infatuated the moment I laid eyes on him, the soft stubble of facial hair gracing such a baby face confusing me, but enticing me nonetheless. I’d never really put thought to love, after about seventeen years now of fighting and fighting. Maybe that would change this time. Or maybe I’d never talk to him in the first place and go do a line off a buddy’s counter. _

_ He rode by. I watched him go. I took a mental note of the curve of his waist, and the way his boxers peaked out of the little gap between his hips where the jeans refused to tug up. They said “THE SHINING” on them. I’d never seen that movie, but he clearly didn’t have that in common with me. _

_ Maybe getting out of rehab so early was a good idea. I didn’t need help anyway. The world moved so fast, it pissed me off. _

“Gerard? Grub?” Ma asked, not calling him grub, but offering food. His nickname was G. Grub did make sense as a nickname, but only because it sounded like a mild jab at his mental health.

Gerard blinked, nodding in response. He didn’t feel like talking. Mikey answered for him. “I’m frickin’ starving anyway!!” Mikey exclaimed, and their mother rolled her eyes, despite keeping faced to the road. 

“Language, Michael.”

“I said ‘frickin’’!!” Mikey exclaimed back, exasperated, and Gerard laughed genuinely for the first time all summer. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough draft btw I’ll fix it later

“I think you’re gonna like this new guy.” Pete said, smirking with a joint rolled between his lips. Pete had a distinct smile, something like how Courtney Love was a bigot, and how the colour pink looked great on everyone. Pete was a good kid, unlike most of the dealers Gerard had encountered, or most other people in general. Genuinely good hearts were hard to come by these days, if they weren’t from some chemo sop story or whatever. Gerard had no energy to care for the sickly. When you’re actively killing yourself for a good time, your empathy tends to fade. Not Pete, though. Then again, he wasn’t quite actively killing himself, more like making a living off whatever means he could. Pete was the same age as Gerard, just way poorer, and needed some way to afford college. Plain as that. Not a drop of evil in his body, just a chaotic energy that buzzed through as the public highs of bipolar. The hardest he dealt was ecstasy, but most people came to him for weed or other mild shit. Gerard hit other people up for coke and heavier devices, but Pete was a cool guy, and a friend above a drug dealer.

“Oh yeah? What in God’s name makes you think I’m gonna like anyone. Or he’s gonna like me?”

“He’s just your type. Y’know, gay, but not effeminate like you. It could work. Queer guys are hard to come by here, as I’m sure you know.”

“I’m not ga-“

“And before you try and tell me you aren’t gay, I know you’re a fag. You tried to sleep with me in exchange for Xanax.”  _ God damn it.  _ “But for real, you’ll like him. The black fringe, tattoos somehow even though he looks fourteen, the whole grunge thing going on. Imagine the perfect emo boyfriend… THAT is this new kid. Bought some weed off me, cigs and a few other things. Seems like a cool guy.”

“Can you even say word?”  _ I asked, and my voice came out like garbled nonsense, through the scrabble of my mind. I already snagged some Xanny and a bag of powered love, but hadn’t taken them. Just taken a few hits off Pete’s bunt, and the steep lack of medication from my doctor, let alone “alternative medicine”, made everything so goddamn blurry. Not a happy blurry, not a blissful ignorance, more like a thousand thoughts running at all times, just getting blurred and smashed together from the sheer lack of room in here. Counting each of Pete’s breaths and how many lines were on his stupid fucking chapped lips was shouting over any semblance of normalizing my body language.  _ “F… y’know, the f word. Whatever.”

Pete just shoved Gerard gently, laughing his weird cigarette ridden laugh. Gerard hated to admit he stumbled just a little. “I have a boyfriend, dipshit. I’m pretty sure I earned a pass.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, anyway. Go hit up the new kid. Iero’s his name. Frank. I dunno, worth a shot. He likes the Misfits and Black Flag, so at least he has taste. Just pray he isn’t homophobic or something.”

“I’m homophobic, motherfucker. Don’t be homophobic-...ist.” The two of them shared a laugh this time, Gerard finding once again, he was managing to show real emotion. Probably the weed this time.

Gerard shuffled on his feet, gravitating towards the door. Pete’s hideout was a hollowed-out shell of a gas station freezer, where he owned the store outside as well, but sold drugs exclusively in there. “I’m gonna skip, yeah? I’ve got a party to go to, anyway. Spot me, will ya’?”

“Fuck no, Gerard- I need the mone-“

“Rehab discount!!” Gerard shouted from already outside, and he wandered off into the distance. Bob Bryar, the quarterback of the football team, was having a party, and Gerard did not intend to be sober when the time came. Or intend to be sober afterwards. 

  
  


Frank was quite the interesting character. Pete was right about that bit. Moved here after his parents divorce, and these days, its rare someone gets full custody with no visits, so something bad obviously happened. Frank didn’t like to talk about it. 

He spent his afternoons on Grindr and any screwing site he could get his hands on, scrolling through dick pic after dick pic after dick pic. See, he was specific about what kind of dick he would allow in, but that didn’t mean he didn’t approve of a lot. Not that that’s a bad thing of course, but it did take up a lot of time. And give him nice legs after so many bicycle rides. 

He thrust himself out there, posting pictures of himself in lingerie, the soft plumflesh of scars peeking out from behind black lace. ‘Femboy looking for a dominant daddy’ his profile said. ‘Looking for someone who will see me as appealing and treat me like a regular guy, not some weird Frankenstein of one’ is what he really meant. And a good dick never hurt anyone. 

It was time consuming to sift through all the duds, the teenager lounging in his boxers with a freshly stuck bandaid resting on his stomach. This was all before he found a notable one, actually. A notable one with a huge dick, and honest to god manners. He was impressed, if not shocked someone like that actually existed on fucking Grindr. 

The profile read as follows:

Domdaddy666. Top only / very dominant. Can be as gentle or as rough as you like. I’m a sucker for femboys and twinks.

Sounds good enough by Frank’s standards, if he had any.  _ And that wasn’t me being judgemental, he really told me he didn’t have any standards.  _ When you grow up with a body that feels more like a prison than a home, you learn quickly that it doesn’t matter who comes in and who you push away. At the end of the day, Frank just wanted a good time, or to pretend like he was having some semblance of one. 

A notification popped up from the guy, and Frank swiped to open it. 

Domdaddy666:  My god you are perfect and so so beautiful. Meet up for a drink? Tonight?

Frank paused, biting his lip. He was supposed to go to that kid Bob’s party with Bert, his new friend who he’d met in summer school, but this seemed...rather more appealing. No offence, Bert. 

_ Bert was kinda cool. We were closer back in the day, back when I had my tumblr phase and he wore jorts. He’s still popular on tumblr apparently, and with the other popular guys somehow, but it wasn’t exactly my scene. _

  
  


_ Going home high was always the fucking worst, especially when I had to smuggle something in. Not like I would describe myself as proud of this hobby, but it wasn’t exactly like anybody is proud of smuggling cocaine into their bedroom. I was, however, proud of my innovation and ability to manage getting so much in. From a cigarette or two to a fucking blowtorch, I’d got it all in. Skill if you ask me. Not a skill any job or college would enjoy or utilize, but still skill. _

“Where have you been?” Ma asked, and it made Gerard jump out of his skin. Literally, he invisioned himself falling out of that brittle shell and flopping, one muscly, veiny mass of nerves and other shit he’d erased of biology class, onto the floor. 

“...Getting food.”

“Oh were you now-“

“Yeah, Ma- Jesus Christ. Sorry I eat now?”

“You were not fucking eating, you were out getting high.”

“Was fuckin’ not-“ Gerard ducked into his room, but his mother followed, and he felt a unique rage boiling in him usually only caused by mothers breathing. 

“Don’t you run from me, Gerard Arthur Way, we are not finished here.”

Gerard pulled his door closed. “Yes we are-“ She stuck her foot in at the last moment. “Back the fuck up Ma. I’m changing to go to a friend’s house.”

“Not until you take a fucking drug test- And which friend?”

“Fucking Ray, Ma!! Jesus-“ He flung his hands out which was enough to get her to back up, in which he promptly slammed the door, barricading it with his easily accessible desk she would not be able to move from the other side. 

“YOU ARE TAKING THAT FUCKING DRUG TEST YOUNG MAN.” She shouted through the door, slamming her fist on it. Oh, but Gerard just slammed his right back, not a word leaving his lips and yet, enough anger to move mountains. He punched the door, nothing too hard, but enough to get his point across, and enough to make his pale knuckles sting with the crackle of painful joint popping. It felt good to do, and as long as he didn’t ruin the fucking door, he couldn’t care less. Turning up his favourite Slipknot CD as loud as possible on his busted old stereo, he breathed out all the air in his body, just for a moment, and slunk out the window without a second thought. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a note lol I write a lot of these at ungodly hours so pls feel free to point out mistakes! I usually go back and rewrite stories when I’ve gotten the whole thing done y’know

_ There’s a few options one has when taking a drug test. You can always go with the much easier ‘don’t do drugs’, but I clearly didn’t have time for that. Ma wanted the drug test now, and I only had a limited time before she noticed I’m responding. An hour max, maybe two if I’m lucky, because I never took naps longer than an hour and a half. I just can’t. _

_ So if that’s out of the picture, and you’re in a bind, option one is Niacin. It’s a B vitamin that breaks down chemicals and fat and this morning’s third guilt cake or whatever. If you take as many as you can swallow and drink a downright fuckton of water, it’ll flush your system. Only problem is, side effects include dizziness, nausea, fainting and death. Death being the most common. Even the hardcore drug freaks don’t recommend this.  _

_ Option two, fake urine. $89.99. Yeah right. _

_ Option three isn’t too terrible, but only because it’s free and won’t result in death. Only problem is, it’s embarrassing as shit, and relies on the kindness of your best friend. That’s how I wound up at Ray’s door, happy to see a familiar smile but distraught I’d have to ruin that. _

_ Ray’s been my best friend since childhood, and by that, I mean the only one who didn’t flee like a rat when things got tough. He stayed with me through every panic attack on the floor of the bathroom during what was supposed to be third grade math. We’ve grown apart, sure, but I still love him to death, and I know he loves me too. Which is what makes this so hard.  _

“Gerard! Hey! What’s up, dude?” Ray greeted/asked, a smile on his tanned face. His brother ran by in the background, and spoke a language Gerard couldn’t even begin to pinpoint to their mother. Ray had grown since Gerard had last seen him, at least an inch. The boy had peach fuzz too, and it dawned on Gerard just how long it had been since the two had seen each other. Not counting the months of rehab and the brief mental hospital visits here and there, Gerard couldn’t even count the minutes, let alone months. 

“N-Not much. I, uh, sorry I didn’t visit.” Gerard replied, adjusting his sweatshirt and biting his lip. He always wore that sweatshirt, as in hadn’t taken it off since he was twelve. It was a rusty red colour, and had a ketchup stain on the sleeve right above his major artery. It was actually ketchup, nothing edgy and sobby emo shit like everyone expected. Just ketchup. Gerard had cried the day he stained it, as in had a multi-day meltdown, and didn’t eat or drink anything for most of the time. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy as shit anyway, doing dual enrolment and all that jazz. What can I do for ya’? Wanna come in?”

“I, um… I need a favour.” And Gerard whispered in Ray’s ear, and he could feel Ray’s face fall in the air. 

See, most drug tests have a heat sensor strip, and since he no longer got privacy unless he barricaded his door, the ‘heat the old piss up with the hot sink’ trick wouldn’t work. So the clean urine had to come fresh from a clean source. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“MA! I GOTTA PEE!” Gerard yelled, pushing his dresser aside and making his way out into the hallway. There was no way he was skipping that party tonight, and something like a little old drug test would never stop him. 

Of course, he didn’t get much privacy at all, but at least his Ma turned around.

“Ma, I wish we could do this in a way that wasn’t a complete violation of my privacy.”

“Well, you lost the right to privacy when you overdosed, Gerard.” She snapped right back, eyes still away. 

_ I know what you’re thinking. ‘What kind of sick fucking mom won’t let her son piss in privacy???’. But no, she has a point. I’m literally fucking cheating this drug test right now. Eyedrop bottle taped to the thigh never fails. She took all the locks off the bathrooms and bedroom doors after, and rightfully so. I wouldn’t fucking trust me either.  _

_ She was rambling now, about how I’d traumatized my little brother Mikey, and how finding me overdosed and knocked out and choking on my own vomit must have been the worst possible experience he could have. And I’m sure it was. I could see it in an out of body way sometimes. I watched Mikey find me. I watched him over and over until I bashed my head into the wall so hard, it bled. And the worst part is, even now, I can’t stop thinking about how much I loved being dead. How much bliss I was in, the feeling of drugs running so rampant in my system, I couldn’t even notice my brother sobbing and screaming and frantically dialing 911. That was freshman year. I was fourteen, Mikey was eleven. And numerous hospitalizations, relapses, med changes, psychiatrists, online classes and “final time talking about it”s meant fucking nothing, because I was always looking for that feeling again. It was just a matter of not getting too close to the sun, and keeping an eye on my wax wings.  _

_ I know you probably hate me now. I hate me too.  _

“Ma , can we not talk about this now? Please?”

“You’ve caused us genuine pain, Gerard. I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I can’t fuckin’ trust you to go get food because for all I know, you’ll throw yourself into traffic. Or at least try to.” Situating himself, Gerard put the strip into the cup, watching the colours light up negative with a twisted satisfaction. 

“I’m doing better. You worry too much.”

  
  
  


Frank felt way too powerful with a needle sticking out of his thigh. Not a Gerard type of needle (no offence)  _ (none taken) _ , but his own kind. He pulled it out and wrapped it up, tossing the sharp into the trash, and his little vial gently back onto his nightstand. He stretched his arms above his head, used to the slight pain and pull at his chest, but honestly relieved it hardly hurt anymore. The scars had faded too, so much so that under lingerie, you couldn’t tell any scars had been there in the first place. He had different, more obvious scars, but a quick fuck “domdaddy666” didn’t need to worry about those. 

Frank wandered to his dresser, shoving lace and laurels aside to select which he would wear tonight. Of course he preferred to wear the normal t-shirt and baggy jeans, but there was something so empowering about lace protruding from both. It was a part of him he had reclaimed, a part of so-called femininity he had conquered and made his bitch, essentially. Lingerie is masculine as fuck. 

He felt a certain power about him, chains and a choker dangling from his neck. He wasn’t exactly a “bottom” or a “sub” or whatever, but he was looking for a quick fuck, and that’s all there was to it. He’d reclaimed sexuality from his predisposed insecurity, from the slump he was born into but had conquered between doctors and changing the way he walked. Doing this just felt like further sealing his freedom. It was his choice to fuck whoever he wanted, however he wanted. And there was something to be said about older men being so invested in him. Sexualizing himself felt freeing, while simultaneously satisfying the need he felt to be objectified. This body still didn’t feel like his own, not fully, and giving it away felt nice. A temporary therapy until he found a way to actually see a professional again. He’d still probably do it again. New town, same bullshit, whether anyone liked it or not. 

Tossing on a looser shirt that showed off his curves somehow and a pair of skinny jeans, he laced up his docs, ruffling his hair in the mirror as a little send off. He’d been meaning to experiment with his style a bit, branch out into Demonias and fishnets more, but he never bothered. Besides, between life and new guitar strings, his bank account wasn’t exactly bountiful at this point, so that could always wait for later. 

“Going somewhere?” Frank’s mother asked, and the boy searched for her eyes lost in a see of a new home, and a connected kitchen and living room. 

“Yeah, my new friend Bert invited me to a party. That cool with you?”

“Well,” She closed her magazine from the couch. Ah, there she is. “Depends. Got your knife?” 

“Aren’t they illegal here?” 

“Don’t care. Got it?”

“Yes, Mom.” Frank vocally rolled his eyes.

“And your phone is charged?”

“Of course it is- Mom, I’ll be fine. Nobody’s gonna be weird. I promise.”

“Well they were weird at our last town, and I’ll be damned before that happens again.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be safe. And won’t be alone, either.”

She knit her lips into a tight knot of worry, and Frank swallowed hard. He wasn’t exactly up for cancelling right now. “Alright, alright. As long as I get to meet Bert soon. And don’t let your phone die.”

“Cool, bye, Mom!” Frank regarded in a rush, practically out the door before he even finished saying it. Not exactly like you could just tell your mom you were going to a motel to meet up with a stranger and have sex.  _ I don’t imagine anyone tells their mom that.  _ Frank certainly wouldn’t. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short, idk. been obsessed with other things and haven’t had much time to write. hopefully I won’t abandon this one sksokdskjdsknsfl

Bert was a god amongst men as far as any of us were concerned. He was a weird kid, sure, ….greasy…., but a god nonetheless. He was always the one who would always be there for you, hiding in the background of every photo grabbing your ass or something. Consensually, of course. 

Bert was part of the One Direction fandom for years. Quite regrettably so. Tumblr, despite not being most people’s style, was where he thrived. No rules, no limitations, no tracing it back to him. And people  _ loved  _ his smut. Larries, mostly the ‘I’m not like other girls’ girls who thought reading gay porn was cool and quirky, lifted him up as a saviour for the masses. He wrote downright epics about it, sharing blowjobs being stage, sneaking kisses when Harry and Louis thought fans wouldn’t see. Bert sort of lost himself in it, obsessed with a secret world of hiding queer intentions, especially where he had to hide his. He hated labels, hated adhering to a box…. which is why Tumblr was so wonderful for him. It was a cesspool of weirdos and losers and mostly unlabelled people. They listened to him, understood him.

When he posted his most recent one shot, titled “lovers behind the curtain”, about a sloppy mouthfuck just before a show to ‘calm Louis down’, it got two hundred and forty five thousand notes, and the count increased daily. Too bad that status didn’t carry over to the real world. Kittenqueen69 on Tumblr, some weirdo with greasy hair being his only distinguishable trait to most of the high school. Frank saw him as a friend, though.

The two had gone to summer school, where Frank got suspended from for carving a portrait of Baphomet into the desk, and Bert knew he had to be friends with this guy. 

That was who Frank texted first, seeing as it was one of the only contacts in his phone. 

Frank from summer school : hey bitch :P won’t make it to the party sorry.orrrr will b very late sorry xx

bert (bitchface) :  come ON dude don’t leave me here by myself

Frank just left him on read, because it was hard to ride a bike and text. God does not play cards with broken ankles, Frank learned that the hard way. 

It wasn’t too far of a ride to the motel he was meeting his hookup, thankfully. Didn’t want to be sore already before he got there. He hadn’t had sex in a while, especially with moving and all- So it was debatable whether or not he’d be sore as shit after this. 

See, he knew this was a bad idea, and he stopped to process that as he stood just outside the little ring of motels. He was fucking seventeen, and hooking up with an actual adult man. How fucking gross. If the guy knew Frank was underage, he probably wouldn’t even want it anymore. Wouldn’t want Frank. He knew nobody wanted him unless it served them, unless they needed a replacement body pillow to cum in. And yet, he felt like he deserved this in a way, some form of punishment for being such a sexual deviant. For being such a fucking freak, for being so unintentionally undesirable. Nobody his age was even hot, anyway. Fuck it.

Frank knocked on the door to the motel, biting his lip, watching the wooden finish of the door shuffle and swing in on itself. Ah. So he was handsome. 

“You must be-“

“Yeah.” Frank hastily answered, smiling shyly. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course-“ He stepped aside, the light catching his hair speckled with greys in a way that left a pit in Frank’s stomach. 

  
  
  


“Yo, is that Gerard?” Somebody called, and Gerard turned around. He was standing outside of a gas station close to Bob’s house, obviously zonked out of his mind. He was literally just standing there, staring at the warm glow like something of a moth. “Hey, fucker!” 

Gerard turned around, spying Bert, but still squinting nonetheless. “Heyy..” Gerard mumbled, waving to the familiar stranger. They’d been something like friends a while ago. Fucked once, never really spoke of it again, since they were both high on shit they couldn’t remember the name of when it happened. 

“Need a ride?” Gerard sort of liked how Bert didn’t even ask if he was going to the party, or anything at all. Just offered. Made Gerard feel like something of an addition to the party rather than a burden for once. 

Thinking for a moment, rolling his lip into his teeth ever so slightly, Gerard blinked once or twice, and he could hear his eyelids sticking to his eyeballs. A sign from God himself. “Shiit, yeah, why not.” 

The ride to Bob’s house wasn’t even really that far, thankfully, because Gerard felt like he would evaporate if he sat still too long. He was warm, sweaty even, and sweat poured off his tongue like a rabid dog. One of Bert’s friends watched Gerard drool, slobber pouring out of his mouth slightly agape. He could tell someone was staring, though, and Gerard quickly wiped his mouth with the part of his sleeve by the crook of his wrist specifically. The place where the little bump of bone jutted out. Regardless of drugs in his system or not, a lot of his tendencies stayed behind, thankfully without the thousands of voices chanting in his head at all times. Drugs quieted things, just for a little while at least. No need to pick at his skin or nails, to make so many lists in his English class staple composition book, that he had no room to write shitty poetry about everywhere he’d dreamt of stabbing a future lover. 

Time buzzed like an electric razor to the scalp. The way it made your head vibrate under it, the way your lip quivered, the way you wondered if your hair would ever grow back. Gerard’s parents forced him to buzz his head back in the day, the summer before freshman year, his father dead-set on the fact Gerard “needed to look more masculine”.  _ I was always really feminine, not that I personally gave a shit, but I never fucking got why everyone cared so much. Dad always wanted a hyper-masculine military style son, and not that Mikey was, but for something of a twink, he was more masculine than me. Mikey wasn’t actually a twink, not really. Just awkward, lanky, and of course, a fag like me. I always liked to tease him about it, but if anything, I was more guilty of being a queer in a poorly sewn het disguise. Blegh. I’m rambling now. Long story short, I’m queer, and I fuckin’ look it. Besides, now that my hair is growing out, I look a fucking thousand times better. Not to mention, a seldom-mentioned upside to being a drug addict is losing an absolute shit-ton of weight. So these days, I really did look like a stereotypical gay teenager, if not more of a lesbian. Not that there’s anything wrong with lesbians of course, I just… ugh. Why bother with such human concepts of gender and sexuality? I’m obviously a drug-absorbing alien from space with removeable, miniature teeth.  _

_ The only reason I will stop rambling, dear reader, is because I entirely failed to work in that I just snorted a crushed up something off the counter of the bathroom at Bob’s house, and I was walking on the fucking walls. On the WALLS. My feet  _ connected with the floral wallpaper, which wobbled just a bit, like the belly of a scared beast scarred from years and years of having Bob Bryar tread in it. He tread a few more times up the wall, climbing his way onto the ceiling, and eventually onto the opposite wall. Like something of a spider, he continued to wander, and not once did it occur to him that he wasn’t in fact doing this at all.  _ Don’t do drugs, kids. _


End file.
